Untitled
by HeroineGauddess
Summary: Prompt from wondergirl257: Emily is envious of the life she could've had, of the life she still wants, only to realize that she's already living it. One-shot. Vemily/Victem (:


**Author's Notes:** This piece is for a friend of mine who's always been so sweet and supportive—wondergirl257, this is my way of saying thank you for the story you wrote me and I hope you like it!

**P.S.** I couldn't, for the life of me, think of a proper title. So I'm open to any and all ideas!

* * *

Water runs down her back, tiny streams of suds trickling across bare skin as Emily tilts backward under the showerhead and utilizes the raining nozzle to rinse the soap away.

"_That was me, like hours old. I was literally just born, look at how tiny I am! I can't believe I was ever that small."_

The faint call of seagulls squawk from a distance through the opened window just as a salty breeze makes its way over the stall, fanning within the inclosed space before condensing onto the tiled walls or rising wispily toward the ceiling, and leaving horripilation in its wake.

"_Oh god, and this is me at...mom, how old was I in this one?"_

"_Hm? Oh __**that**__ was the year Charlotte decided she needed a trim, with a pair of kitchen shears. Needless to say I was none too pleased."_

"_Yeah, I was kind of a handful."_

Emily hums with gratification when she reverses a step further and immerses herself completely in the downpour of warmth and closes her eyes. She rakes through now sleek blonde locks until fingers reach their end and the tresses fall against her shoulders with a resounding wet slap.

"_Ha-ha. Don't think I won't pull out __**your**__ embarrassing baby pictures, Ems!"_

"_Well...good luck with that."_

"_Why?"_

A hand then leaves her scalp, outstretching an arm for the plastic comb where she predicts it to be lying on the shelf. But her nails only scrape against stone and bend awkwardly at the knuckles once they come in contact with a masonry barrier, and she instantly draws her arm back simultaneously growling in aggravation.

Brown eyes fly open after Emily's rubbed her lids dry and carefully examines the ache that now throbs the joints of her fingers. The soft pitter patter sound of aqua hitting the floor, circling her ever pruning feet, and gurgle of the drain as it funnels down echos around the room while she's brought out of her reverie.

That's right, Emily silently admonishes, she's in Victoria's room. Not her own.

She supposes the revelation of last night bothers her more than she cares to admit, which, she surmises with a dire trill, won't be something that can be suppressed easily, as she tends to do with all things pertaining to her past.

It had been new territory for her. New for several reasons. And for someone who took pride in her own veracity and embedded determination, almost always staying ahead of the game, and the ability to separate herself and adapt to any given situation, Emily most certainly hadn't prepared for what transpired; having never felt like little Amanda Clarke more in her life.

Charlotte was now a college graduate, which was to be celebrated and what better way than in Grayson style—a table at the most exclusive restaurant in New York.

It wasn't the atmosphere that ultimately unnerved her nor was it the company she kept. The Grayson's had eventually understood and came to accept her as family. Some more demur than others, but the blonde digresses.

The evening with Victoria by her side was endearing and humbly ordinary, surrounded by Daniel and Ashley, Conrad and his new paramour, and of course the recipient. It was filled with laughter, civility, and brief walks down memory lane...until a wallet was introduced and passed about amongst them, displaying various captured shots of Charlotte over the years. Glimpses of the life and upbringing of the sister that, for oh so long, Emily didn't know she had.

Of the sister she will never have, not completely.

Because even though she and Victoria are together, no matter how united they all may seem, Emily can never reveal her true identity, and the blonde had come to terms with that. Doing so would wreck untold destruction to the very people she loved and cherished. But the pang of envy that surged through her chest and clutched at her heart couldn't be helped.

Because it wasn't enough that she had been deprived of such things for herself—having been taken from the only family she had left and migrated from foster home to foster home like some defected animal, only to serve at Allenwood before the system spat her back into the world—all the while, she had been denied Charlotte's as well.

It was one thing to hear the tales. It was quite another to be openly taunted by them. To view them, to touch them. Those photographs just made everything Emily had missed out on all the more real.

So she fell silent for the remainder of the night, forced to be content with the notion that she could be there for Charlotte, now. That, that would have to be enough, and perhaps overtime it would be.

Her sudden change in demeanor, unfortunately, didn't go unnoticed by Victoria. The blonde did her very best to suppress what she was feeling, to keep her emotions in check for the sake of their elated banquet. Sliding on the mask of repose, yet desperately trying to recollect her bearings. She could fool the others, but Emily couldn't bullshit the bullshitter, as it were.

The older woman had always been able to see right through her young lover, as she had often challenged, quitting pretenses and manipulating the truth from the woman. The long car ride home was no different.

"_You were awfully quiet tonight."_

"_Was I? I'm sorry, that wasn't my intent."_

"_No need to apologize, Emily, I'm just curious as to why. You seemed to...clam up when Charlotte spoke about your childhood."_

"_I'm just tired, Victoria."_

Emily should have known that the brunette couldn't leave well enough alone. That wasn't her nature. Therefore once they did arrive back at Grayson Manor and both were readying for bed, Victoria brought the subject up again.

"_I know more than anyone just how...somber reliving the past can be. I also know that when it comes to self-preservation, we're equals in that respect, which goes without saying that I know when you're hiding something, and from the moment your obscure adolescence was questioned, you shut down."_

"_You think just because I didn't __**focal**__ myself in the conversation that I'm __**hiding**__ something?"_

"_I'm saying that I know you, Emily. When I look at you, I see myself, and that...that frightens me. Because I know why I'm the way I am and you know why I am the way I am, but I know nothing of how you came to be the way __**you**__ are. What little I do know, I'm forced to make the worst of based on what I observe—like tonight at dinner."_

"_There are certain things I don't like talking about, you know that. Just like you don't like talking about how were you raped and had to give Patrick up for adoption at fifteen. How for nearly thirty years Conrad paraded you around like some prized show dog!"_

"_Don't get flip with me. That's not the point."_

"_Then what __**is**__ the point, Victoria? What do you want from me!"_

"_I want...I want you to want to confide in me."_

Subsequently twisting the faucet off, Emily steps out of the shower with precision onto the wooden mat and grabs for the towel folded atop the lid of the commode. She proceeds to wrap it around herself, then grabs for the second in stack and begins to pat down her hair.

She and Victoria had ensuingly gone to sleep angry. The space between them the most there had ever been since the first time they'd fallen into bed together. So close, yet so far.

Emily didn't mean to dismiss the older woman the way she had, to make light of the predicament she found herself in when all she wanted to do was surrender to Victoria's diligence. Their relationship wasn't the most traditional nor practical. It was sudden, catching both women by surprise with such fervor that they could hardly abate it, and frequently sparked passions elsewhere. That was why she ended any further discussion so shorthandedly.

Emily was prideful, immensely so, just as Victoria was set in her ways, and neither one were going to change anymore than they already had. Meaning, being the she-wolves that they undoubtedly were, on the special occasions when they fought—special, because it was quite a spectacle to witness—they tended to be brutal, never-ending unless disrupted by a third party or until blood was drawn.

It was inevitable and unavoidable. They were, for the lack of a better term, professional proverbial terminators. Sharp tongued to the death. So when the brunette withdrew from the fight, willingly, it spoke volumes to the younger woman.

It meant Victoria cared, that she was trying. Making Emily out to be the ass.

Dry and dressed, she makes her way downstairs where she knows the older woman takes breakfast. Words formulate in her head with each declined footfall as best of an apology as she can muster. Because lets face it, that isn't either of their strong points.

The blonde enters the conservatory with a wary gate, spotting her lover at the head of the table with an already made bowl of fruit. Victoria glances up at her for a moment, barely acknowledging her presence before her gaze returns to the folded newspaper in hand with a disinterested air.

This is the side of the woman she's familiar with, the Queen of the Hamptons set upon her throne. The fact that she can essentially taste the tension resonating off Victoria from across the room tells her that last night isn't forgotten, and, if and when confrontation arises, the brunette is at the ready. It's what had first attracted Emily to her like a moth to a flame, what she both loves and loathes about the older woman.

It's why the blonde says what she says when she clears her throat, slicing through the expectant silence.

"I can't think of anything else to say other than I behaved terribly."

Victoria abandons her fork on the plate just beneath the china bowl and reaches for her glass, her line of sight never wavering from the Times. "I know."

Emily frowns because the tables have turned and Victoria's now the one curt. The younger woman guesses she deserves nothing less and leans against the doorframe.

"No you don't," she assures, shaking her head defeatedly. "I got defensive last night because..." Then Emily shrugs for the lack of anything better to do. "I was jealous."

This perks Victoria's ears, earning the blonde her attention. "Go on."

"I wish I could explain it but I can't." Emily walks a few fortifying steps forward to drape her arms over the back of a chair placed just to the side of the brunette. "I think some of it may be that I...that Charlotte reminds me of myself at her age."

"Which," she adds hastily, waving a hand with a quick roll of her eyes. "I know wasn't that long ago, but Charlotte had the life I wanted growing up. The kind of life I still want."

At this, Victoria tucks the morning paper next to her plate and slightly shifts in the chair, mimicking a similar expression of rue.

"I mean, I don't have baby pictures to share or to be threatened of embarrassment with. I'm sure some were taken, but I have no evidence of that. I was, you know...envious of what she has and...I felt like I was, I don't know, imposing or something."

Emily sidesteps out of the way to pull the chair out and takes a seat, slumping into it as she folds one leg over the other. Her fingers automatically begin to pick at a nonexistent hangnail and she's suddenly unable to look at the older woman.

"You're not an imposition, Emily." Victoria finally speaks.

"I mean, you were at first." the brunette deadpans, smiling when one quirks the younger woman's lips. The kind that reaches their eyes. "But not anymore."

The blonde steals a glimpse up from under long lashes at the sound of rustling just in time to watch Victoria carefully bend over and retrieve something hidden in the seat of the chair opposite her. A book is then slid into her lap. With closer examination, Emily realizes it isn't a book at all. Not in any literate sense, rather an album. For pictures.

Her head immediately snaps questioningly at Victoria, only to find that the older woman's attention has flown back to the Times, tossing a grape into her mouth.

"What's this?" she asks. The younger woman has a genuine idea, though she wants to hear the brunette's explanation anyway.

"Remember when we both orchestrated scrapbooks for Daniel's twenty fourth birthday?"

Emily nodded, "I recall doing the orchestrating and you doing the imitating."

"Well, same concept," the older woman smirks to herself. The blonde snorts. "Open it."

In doing so, the younger woman is suddenly rendered speechless. There, gracing the first page is a photograph of...

"Amanda," Emily breathes. Her hand slowly tapes over her mouth and it's all she can do from sobbing on the spot. Because she's not only gazing at her former self, but her father as well. He's grinning and she's grinning and he's holding her in his arms with the beach in the background, and it's just...

"I know how close you were to her." whispers Victoria.

Emily doesn't know when the brunette stood from the chair and moved to linger over her shoulder. But she's there, long curls dangling in her peripheral, arms slithering around her neck from behind, chin nestling in the crook of it.

"It's the only one I have left of David." she goes on. "I suppose this is my way of honoring them."

Her voice breaks and Emily feels her hold tighten just a bit. Pausing a moment, Victoria manages to compose herself. "And I thought that we could build onto it. Images of whoever you want. Of Nolan or Charlotte...or us."

The blonde's unable to turn away from the somewhat aged picture protected behind a durably clear sheet. She doesn't know what to say or wither she should say anything at all. The older woman brushes lovingly at her hair and presses a chaste kiss against her pulse point.

"I know it isn't much, and hardly what they deserve. But I thought you'd appreciate it. I only hope they—"

"They do." Emily clarifies, her voice evident of the sole tear that leaks down her cheek. Without hesitation. Without doubt.

She feels it. And it's enough.


End file.
